Harmony Read online

  “I knew,” says my mom, smiling back at her. “Go get in the shower.”

  And amazingly, Tilly does. “No deodorant, though,” she yells from the hallway.

  “That’s fine,” says my mom. She closes her eyes for a minute and shakes her head, and I’m not sure if it’s for me or for both of us, or maybe just for herself.

  Once we’re all dressed—which takes a while, because even though Tilly never wants to get into the shower, she also never wants to get out—my mom herds us out the front door, toward the path to the dining hall. I know we’re not going to run into the new people, because I heard them leaving ten minutes before we did, which makes me nervous in a different way, like now we’re late. I know it’s not like we’re in some kind of contest with the other Camp Harmony families, but it feels like we are, and I’m not sure who’s ahead now: us, because we got here first, or the new people, because they got to breakfast on time. I think about the other family that hasn’t even arrived yet; whoever they are, their kids still don’t have any idea what their bedrooms are like, or how early Scott wakes us up, or how the lake looks as you walk to the dining hall. We’re definitely ahead of them; even though we just got here yesterday, we’re already way more settled in. But then I think about how they’re probably listening to CDs in the car and having breakfast at McDonald’s, and how it’s still just them, just their own family, the kids and their parents, a little unit all wrapped up together inside their car, and I have to concentrate on breathing slowly in and out through my mouth so I don’t start crying.

  My dad holds the swinging screen door open, and we walk into the building. The dining hall is divided into two rooms: in front, there’s an area with a bunch of long tables, where you sit and eat, and in the back is a swinging door with a little window that leads to the kitchen. There’s also a long counter at the back of the actual dining part, where you put the food out so people can take it. Or at least, that’s what we did last night. I always liked buffets and being able to choose which food you want, but I don’t know if I’m going to like having one for every meal.

  There’s no one at the tables yet, but I can hear voices from the kitchen, and I slow down, sticking close to my mom. Tilly jumps right in, announcing herself loudly as soon as she’s inside: “Hey, new people,” she calls, making herself heard over the sounds of talking and clanging spoons. She pushes the swinging door open and then stops in the doorway to run her fingers down each side of the doorjamb, before continuing through. “Which family are you?” she asks.

  I follow, peering in cautiously to see what we’re dealing with. Scott, cooking bacon on the giant stovetop, and the redheaded woman I saw from the window, dressed now and mixing something in a bowl. A big guy wearing a muscle shirt and a baseball cap, lining up glasses next to a pitcher of juice. And three kids—a teenage girl, a boy about my age, and a little girl who might be four or five (she’s wearing a tutu, if that tells you anything)—are busy gathering plates and silverware, or at least it seems like that’s what they were doing before they stopped to look at Tilly.

  I’m not sure what they’re going to think of her, partly because I know that we’re in a place where every family has at least one kid like Tilly. Or not like Tilly, but not like anyone else, either, in the same kind of way. If that makes sense.

  “Good morning,” says Scott cheerfully; he picks up a pair of tongs and begins to remove slices of bacon from the pan, setting them on paper towels. “Just let me finish this up, and then . . .” He trails off, and we all stand and watch him until he turns off the burner and wipes his hands on his apron.

  “Introductions,” he says. “Hammond family: Josh, Alexandra, Tilly, and Iris”—he points to each of us in order of age—“meet the Gough family: parents Rick and Diane and kids Candy, Ryan, and Charlotte.”

  The grown-ups move forward to shake each other’s hands; I stick by my mom’s side and politely introduce myself after she’s done. The other kids all just stand there, staring at each other. Ryan seems like he might be annoying; he’s got one of those faux-hawk haircuts, and it looks really stupid. The older girl, Candy, seems like she might be nice, though. She’s tall and tomboyish, with chin-length hair and glasses. I like her T-shirt, which shows a cookie jumping off a diving board into a glass of milk.

  “I didn’t think it was going to be ‘Goff,’” says Tilly. I guess she’s talking about the pronunciation of their last name. “I saw it on my mom’s list. I thought it was going to be ‘Gow,’ or maybe ‘Gowg.’”

  “You’re pretty stupid if you think anyone’s named ‘Gowg,’” says the boy.

  “Ryan,” says his mom, warningly.

  “That’s interesting, isn’t it?” says Scott, cutting her off. “How you can see a word in print and imagine that it’s pronounced completely differently, and you never know until someone says it out loud. I remember once when I was about ten, I was talking to a bunch of grown-ups, and I used the word ‘horizon,’ only I pronounced it ‘hor-i-ZON,’ like ‘horizontal.’ They all laughed, and I was really embarrassed, but my mom said that it just showed that I liked to read a lot.”

  It’s a stupid story, more teacher-like than he usually is, and I can tell that Tilly and Ryan aren’t paying any attention to him.

  “Gowg,” says Tilly. “Hi there, Ryan Gowg.”

  “Tilly,” says my mom.

  “Shut up!” yells Ryan. “It’s ‘Goff’!”

  “This is Tilly Hammond,” says Tilly, pretending to speak into a microphone, “reporting live from the kitchen. Some kid named Ryan Gowg is getting really upset, probably because he has such a stupid name.”

  The moms are still hovering like nervous birds, chirping quiet little words that get lost under the bigger sounds. When Ryan lunges at Tilly, the dads step in, holding the kids apart, so they can’t get to each other.

  “Come on, Tilly,” says my dad. “Pull yourself together.”

  “Game face,” says Ryan’s dad. “Come on, buddy, game face.”

  And that’s when Scott moves into the middle of everything and sinks down to his knees on the floor.

  “Okay, guys,” he says. He puts one hand on Ryan’s shoulder and the other on Tilly’s. “Let’s calm down a little, so we can talk. You can do it. Take a breath.” He demonstrates, sucking in air and then blowing it out.

  Tilly resists, like always. “You could change your name to Ryan Fuck,” she says. “That’s a nice name.”

  The older girl, Candy, starts laughing, and her dad puts his hands on her shoulders and leans down to whisper something in her ear. She covers her mouth and tries to stop, but then I accidentally meet her eyes and smile, and she starts laughing harder and has to turn away for a minute. I look down at the brown tiles on the floor and try not to start laughing, too.

  Meanwhile, Ryan lets out this noise, this wordless howl of frustration, and tries to hit Tilly, and my mom says, “Tilly, stop it!” in her extra-firm and on-the-verge-of-being-mad voice, which is usually her last resort before she starts losing her temper herself. But Scott just stays there on the floor, calmly holding the two kids apart. He watches Tilly with a serious expression, staring at her closely. He has these strange eyes, dark gray and really intense, and I can see Tilly’s face getting a little less angry as she looks into them.

  “You can do it,” he says again. “I know you can.” He breathes in and out, showing them what he wants them to do. Ryan starts following the same rhythm, breathing deeply in this exaggerated way, and then I guess Tilly wants to show that she’s as good as he is, so she starts doing it, too. The whole kitchen is silent for what seems like a long time, listening to the three of them breathe together.

  “Okay,” Scott says, after a minute. “I want you both to listen to me, because I’m going to tell you something important: no matter how hard you try, you’re never going to be able to control how anyone else acts. All you can control is yourself. Tilly, you know yo
u’re not stupid, and Ryan, you know the right way to pronounce your name. When someone teases you and you get upset, you’re giving power to that person. You’re showing them that they have the power to make you mad and unhappy. Ryan, are you going to let Tilly ruin your whole morning?”

  He stops and turns to Ryan. “Yes,” says Ryan, though he’s not yelling anymore. His face is all red, though, and he’s gotten kind of sweaty.

  “Really?” asks Scott. “This is up to you. Your first morning here. Are you going to let her ruin it?”

  There’s a long pause. “I guess not,” says Ryan.

  “Okay,” says Scott. “Good job.” He takes his arm from around Ryan’s shoulders for a moment and holds it out for Ryan to shake. It’s the wrong hand, the left one, which makes the whole thing look strange, like he and Ryan are just holding hands instead of shaking them, but I guess Scott’s not sure yet if he can let go of Tilly.

  Scott puts his arm back over Ryan’s shoulders, but more loosely this time. He turns to the other side. “And, Tilly, are you going to let Ryan provoke you into losing control?”

  Tilly’s still got her fiercest angry look going, which makes me feel nervous, because it means anything can happen, no matter what Scott does. But I also feel like: Okay, good. This is Tilly; here she is. What does Scott think he’s going to do about it?

  “Fucking bitch,” Tilly says, though her voice is a little quieter than before. Ryan lets out a sharp, high laugh. “Fucking cocksucker motherfucker.”

  This is the point at which my mom or dad usually sends Tilly upstairs to cool down (if we were still at home and there was still an upstairs) or else starts handing out consequences. But Scott just smiles at her and gives her shoulder a little squeeze.

  “Are you done now?” he asks.

  “No,” she says. “Goddamn fucking fuck . . .” and then she just starts crying.

  “Okay,” Scott says. “Okay.” He squeezes her to him, just for a minute, and everyone stays quiet while she sobs herself down into silence.

  “Good job,” he says. He looks back and forth between Tilly and Ryan, smiling like they’ve done something amazing. I feel kind of jealous and annoyed; what about those of us who didn’t start acting like two-year-olds in the first place?

  “I don’t think either of you wanted to be in that place you were in a few minutes ago,” Scott says, “but once you got in, you weren’t sure how to get out again by yourself. But you did it. You did it. Try to remember, guys: everyone here at Camp Harmony wants to help you. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

  Ryan’s looking at the ground, and I think Tilly might start crying again. Scott gathers them into a group hug before standing up and brushing off his pants.

  “Okay,” he says. “Let’s try this again. Who wants some breakfast?”

  We all do. We’re hungry, and we want to get to the next part. We gather around Scott, grown-ups and kids together. “Me!” we all shout. “Me! Me!”

  • • •

  After breakfast, Scott divides us up into two groups: one to work in the garden, and the other to start cleaning out the guest cabins. My mom and I both get put on cabin duty; I don’t really want to do either one, but I guess this is a little better, since at least the cabins have ceiling fans. Scott gives us pails and gloves and rags and a whole bunch of organic cleaning supplies. Mom and I start with the cabin closest to the lake, while the Gough dad and Ryan start at the other end.

  It’s not so bad; I always kind of liked helping my mom around the house, and we take turns picking out songs to sing. It’s so dirty inside the cabins that it feels like we’re in a TV commercial for Windex or something: when you wipe a counter, your rag comes away completely black, and the place where you rubbed has made a new, clean stripe in the dust.

  In the second cabin, while I’m cleaning the bathroom, I pull back the shower curtain, and there’s something horrible lying right near the drain. It’s some kind of animal, gray and furry, except for its long naked tail, and it’s completely, totally dead. I scream and leap out of the room in two big jumps.

  My mom comes running, all concerned, and I just point and say, “Shower.” I’m shaking and crying, which is silly because I know it can’t hurt me, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything dead before, except a bug. My mind keeps showing me how it looked, and my arms and legs feel tickly all over, like maybe there’s something crawling on me.

  I’m far enough away from the bathroom door that I can’t see my mom when she finds it, but I’m surprised that she doesn’t make any kind of noise. I’m sort of expecting her to freak out; she’s usually a coward about yucky stuff. But she comes back out, after a minute, looking completely calm. She walks over and gives me a hug, holding on until I quiet down. Then she walks me outside with her arm still around me and says, “Why don’t you go and take a break? I’ll ask Scott where I can find a shovel.”

  I sit in the grass underneath a tree, and my mom walks in the direction of the garden, retying the bandanna she’s been using to keep her hair out of her face. I feel calmer now and almost happy with relief, happy to be out of the cabin and happy to have my mom making things safe. I’m kind of impressed by how calm she is, how brave and casual, like she does this all the time. “I love you, Mommy,” I call after her, and she turns her head and blows me a kiss as she walks away.

  By lunchtime, everyone’s here. The new family is the Ruffins; they’re from Philadelphia, and they’re black, the only black family here. The parents are named Tom and Janelle, and they just have one little boy. His name is Hayden, he’s four years old, and he doesn’t talk.

  My mom gives Janelle a big hug when they see each other, and they sit next to each other at lunch, chattering away. I know that they met a couple of times before, at different Scott Bean events, and that sometimes they used to talk on the phone, but I’m surprised to see that they seem to be such good friends. It hits me that I haven’t seen my mom with friends very often; I don’t think she had very many in DC.

  There’s a lot to remember; I keep running through the names in my head, trying to get them all down. Ryan and Hayden are the only boys. Charlotte’s five, and her dad calls her Princess. Candy’s the oldest; her birthday’s two months earlier than Tilly’s.

  The afternoon is more chores, but Scott has told us that we should all wear our bathing suits to dinner, so at least we know there’s something to look forward to. Now that there are more of us working, Scott divides us up into new groups; I end up painting the walls of the office with my dad, Candy, and her mom, Diane.

  The office is its own little building, just one room. It’s also the only place in the camp that has an air conditioner; Scott points out the big ancient-looking thing propped in the window while he’s giving us our work instructions.

  “Not my idea,” he says, grinning. “It was here when I bought it. I guess the Johnsons—that’s the couple that used to run the place—I guess they liked to have a cool place to work. But since we’ve got it, we may as well use it.” He clicks one of the knobs, and the machine starts making a loud wheezy noise and blowing out puffs of dust.

  “Whoa, there,” says Scott, waving his hand in the air to spread out the particles. “That should stop in a second, but I’d better let Tom and Janelle know that they should keep Hayden out of here until I’ve had a chance to change the filters. Poor little guy has asthma, in addition to everything else. Are all of you okay with a little dust?”

  “Okay with me,” says Diane. She grabs a handful of her red hair, lifts it up like she’s going to put it in a ponytail. I’ve decided I like her hairstyle. “As long as it makes it a little cooler in here.” We’ve only been in here a couple of minutes, but our faces are all wet with sweat.

  “No problem,” says my dad, knocking on his chest like a door. “We’ve got strong Hammond lungs. And if you don’t have any ideological problems with . . . you know, CO2 emissions and hydrochlo
rofluorocarbons and what have you, then neither do I.” I tense up a little. He’s teasing Scott, and I’m not sure Scott’s going to find it funny.

  But Scott just gives him an ordinary smile. “I don’t think one little AC unit is going to bring about the downfall of the planet anytime soon. Or were you talking about something other than the environmental impact?”

  “I’m not really talking about anything,” says my dad. “Just trying to ‘be consistent about eliminating the unhealthy effects of modern society.’” I recognize that phrase from the Camp Harmony brochures; we had enough of them lying around our house, back in DC. “It all adds up, right? Genetically modified foods and video game violence and light pollution and so on. You know, I’ve seen some interesting research that suggests that the rise of air-conditioning may be partly responsible for the increase in obesity in the last few decades.”

  “Dad,” I say. I don’t like it when he gets like this. And I know he doesn’t really have anything against air-conditioning; we had it in our house in DC. He’s just trying to make Scott mad. I look over at Candy and Diane, wondering what they’re going to think of us.

  Scott laughs and shakes his head a little. He’s looking at my dad like he finds him genuinely funny, but also like he doesn’t quite understand him and wants to figure him out. “Lighten up, Josh,” he says. “You want to go find an Amish camp, be my guest.”

  “Nah,” my dad says. “I’m just messing with you. I’ll gladly accept twenty square feet of cool air.”

  “All right, then,” Scott says, turning to leave. “You all can get started. I’ll see you at dinner. And don’t forget . . .” He pauses and points to me, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

  “To wear our bathing suits?” I ask.

  “Ding, ding, ding,” says Scott. “Give that girl a prize.” The screen door creaks as he pushes it open and steps out into the sun.

  The four of us stand and look at each other for a moment.